


Streetlight People

by Actually_Crowley



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Deception, Flashbacks, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21543253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Actually_Crowley/pseuds/Actually_Crowley
Summary: Richie’s running from fame, Eddie’s running from obscurity, and they meet in the middle.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris
Comments: 17
Kudos: 55





	1. Going Anywhere

Leave it to Richie piece-of-shit Tozier to rent a car that breaks down in the middle of Bumfuck, Egypt on the one stretch of road that didn’t believe in cellphone towers.

In the car’s defense, it hadn’t exactly broken down. Rather, Richie’s decision to travel a back road with no signs of life in any direction had led him to running over an overzealous pothole. The tire had blown, its rubber now shredded down the short length of road he’d travel before stopping. Also in the car’s defense, the rental company had a guarantee that they could come out and fix any vehicle from anywhere at any time. Even if the car had been totalled, they would bring him a new car, and he could be on his merry way (after paying or not paying fees for the first car, depending on whether or not the damage had been his fault). It was a very handy system to have watching your back.

But that system only worked if a cell phone had the signal to make the call that help was needed.

Richie’s back was leaned against the bug-riddled grill of the nice, nondescript Toyota, its headlights still streaming off into the distance and the dark on either side of him past the dim of a flickering streetlight— the only working streetlight for miles. He stared down at his cell phone, seeing the big X over the bar signal icon, and knew he should have known something was up when the damn thing had stopped going off with all of the calls and texts from his agent that he was ignoring. It had truly been too quiet.

He supposed that this was what he deserved— thinking he could just bail on a show, find the nearest car rental place and disappear into the night. He’d been driving for a good two days before this catastrophe had happened; he’d been in the clear. But like all other things in his life so far, it had been too good to be true.

Now he was stranded. It was nearly one in the morning, he had no way of calling for help, it was miles in either direction before he would find any semblance of population, and he hadn’t seen a single car on this road for the past two hours. His best case scenario at this point was waiting up until the road grew busier and hoping somebody would stop.

Or maybe some venomous snake would come out of the brush nearby and biting him to put him out of his misery.

Richie had gone into fame with a bright outlook on the whole thing. He’d waited tables and tended bars following college, which had led to working many an open mic night to make people laugh. He hadn’t even meant to be seen by anyone important, but some scout nearly bowled him over after one of his sets to give him his information. A couple of weeks later, he was a named act at the improv, and pretty soon after that, he was headlining.

Now nearly a decade and a half later, he sold out theaters. Richie Tozier wasn’t necessarily a household name, but it was definitely a name most people had heard. He was like Bill Engvall, or Mitch Hedburg. He was on the tip of someone’s tongue, somewhere, at all times, and he couldn’t walk into any establishment with more than ten people in it without being recognized. He’d heard his jokes shouted at him from across roads, and he was socially obligated to finish the joke with just as much fervor. But they weren’t his jokes. Not really.

After the first few years of writing his own bits, his manager had told him that he was growing stale. Richie didn’t put enough of himself into his sets, and people were starting to grow bored. Rather than forcing Richie to write better material, his manager had gone ahead and hired him a writer. That writer invented him lots of stories— he’d had sex for the first time in the teacher’s bathroom with some cheerleader who was helping him with his grades, he’d once lit his frat brother’s hair on fire when he threw his blunt blindly to avoid detection by campus security, his little black book of women who knew what the dick of Richie Tozier looked like was half a mile wide, and the book of women who’d slapped him was longer. Three years ago, the writer invented him a girlfriend who was sticking around despite his many exploits that got him into shit with her. Blogs discussed how Richie’s unnamed girlfriend deserved significantly better than the piece of trash that Richie was, constantly finding other outlets to get off and disrespecting her like that. Most recently, the writer had married him off to the unnamed girlfriend. She was now his wife, and his newest, planned sets were all about how much she nagged, and how he likes to go to beaches on spring break just to look at the menu. There were more plans in the future to have them get a divorce, and those new sets would be about how she was a shrew and didn’t put out enough.

Of course, none of the stories he told now had been true. He didn’t have a girlfriend, and he certainly didn’t have a wife. He’d never fucked some cheerleader in the teacher’s bathroom, and he’d never been a part of a fraternity. He was the Ke$ha of comedians. He talked a big game about going to bars and pubs, and then, when his sets ended, he’d go straight to his hotel, alone. He lied in beds of varying degrees of comfort and wonder what the fuck he was actually doing with his life.

The minute his manager had handed him the golden ruse of a ring for the first show where he’d talk about his miserable, married life, the floor had opened up under Richie. He felt like his feet weren’t touching the ground, and they hadn’t been for years. All his limbs were attached to strings, with dozens of people controlling him from above. The voice that came out of his mouth hadn’t been his own in years and instead was coming from just off stage. He had been a marionette, being manipulated for so long that he couldn’t see the strings anymore. Not until they put that ring on his finger. It brought the strings back into focus. He was a dancing puppet who could barely remember his old sets and his old self.

The great voice announcing his name to the public had been followed with nothing but silence, as Richie had already ducked out the back door without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

And now here he was, a day and a half later, stuck on some godforsaken road with no one around for miles to help him.

He’d become too dependent on people. He’d let himself be tugged along on strings for too long, and now he was useless without someone in the rafters showing him where to go and how to act. He’d always had someone with him when stuff like this happened before. It was always funny to him, because before now, it would interrupt the doldrum of his lie of a life. He’d crack jokes, and the surrounding crew would laugh. Even his manager, who’d be three calls deep into getting assistance, would be cracking up. Eventually help would arrive, and it’d be right back to his purgatory. His un-life.

Now he didn’t have any of that. His cell service was shot, nobody would be coming, and he was completely and utterly alone.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He groaned and dropped his phone into the sandy shoulder along the road, pulling his knees up to his chest. He shoved his glasses up onto his head and scrunched his eyes shut tight against the wave of emotion that wanted to rip him apart, crossing his arms over his knees and dropping his face onto them. This was too fucking much. He was useless without the lies. The lies held him together with duct tape and staples. It hurt, it wasn’t stable, and stuff was always leaking out, but at least he’d been together somehow.

He’d just forcefully ripped the tape away and removed the staples, and now it was going to take more than all the king’s horses and men to put him back together again.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting like that. It could have been minutes or hours. He tried to numb himself to the ability to think about it. But at some point, sound had returned to his ears, and it came in the form of tires moving slowly on gravel.

He lifted his head and saw a sensible, dark, SUV slowly backing up toward him. He sniffed once, loudly, and wiped the sand and tears from his eyes, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stood up.

The driver’s window rolled down once the SUV rolled up alongside him, revealing a blurry head of dark hair and a long, pale face. “You need some help?” came the gentle voice from inside.

Richie squinted and gave a huff, reaching up dumbly to pull his glasses back down over his eyes.

The man in the vehicle was roughly his own age, that dark hair was perfectly combed above a brow that seemed like it was permanently creased with worry. His eyes were also dark, locked onto Richie with only concern and not a single ounce of recognition.

Relief crashed into Richie like a car. “Uh, yeah. Rental blew a tire on me, and I can’t get a signal out here.”

The man glanced at the car behind Richie. “The rental didn’t come with a spare?”

Richie turned back to the car as well. “Nope. Not unless they hid it well. Guess they figured twenty-four hour service was enough.”

“Well, fat lot of good that does in a deadzone, huh? That’s stupid of them.” The man gave a weak laugh. “You uh. You want a ride to a gas station or something?”

Richie looked back at the driver. “Yeah, that’d be good. Anywhere I can get a signal, really, you could leave me by a cactus as long as I’ve got a bar or two.”

The stranger laughed again, a little brighter now, as Richie went back to retrieve his cellphone from the dirt. “Nah, I’ll leave you in a well lit area at least. I’m not a dick.” Richie grinned at him and climbed into his rental and shut off the lights, grabbing the one, panic-packed bag of personal effects. He took the key out of the ignition, chucking it into the driver’s seat and locking the door. The company would have a spare key. With a quick once over to ensure he had everything, he shut the door and made his way around the SUV.

Richie climbed into the passenger side, pulling his long legs in and shutting the door, tossing his meagre backpack into the back seat. “This is the part where we both swear to each other we’re not murderers out on the hunt for our next victim.” He stuck his hand out for shaking.

The man barked another laugh and took his hand. “I swear I’m not a murderer. Too many risks in killing somebody. Way too many steps to fuck up.” He smiled. “I’m Eddie.”

Just Eddie. No last names. Nothing too personal. Still not a speck of recognition.

“Richie.” Richie bounced their hands once and let go.

Eddie nodded, put the vehicle in drive, and sent them on their way.

This guy didn’t seem to have a clue who he was. Out of all of the millions of people that could have been driving out there that night, and Richie finds the one guy who had seemingly never heard of Richie Tozier. This was just a random guy meeting another random guy between some random, empty fields somewhere in Ohio. Richie settled back in his seat and let the shield of anonymity cover him.

“You haven’t sworn you’re not a murderer yet, by the way,” Eddie said after a few seconds of silence. “You’ll wanna do that soon before I decide that you’re riding on the roof.”

Richie gave an eager gasp. “Oh, have you got the bungee cords for that? I’m so down.” He glanced into the backseat as if he was about to jump back there and find them. As he did, he took stock of his own, thrown backpack and a couple suitcases that clearly belonged to Eddie.

“That is still not an answer, man,” Eddie laughed again, and Richie was starting to like the sound of one person laughing over the cacophony of too many, turning it into a roar of a predator he couldn’t escape.

Richie rolled his eyes. “I won’t murder you. Scout’s honor.” He drew a cross over his heart. “I have trouble picking a lobster at the supermarket because I know they’re gonna kill the damn thing.”

“I’m having trouble believing you were ever a scout.”

Richie snorted and laughed so hard his abdomen hurt. Eddie laughed with him, and any nerves either of them may have had about being strangers in the same vehicle dissipated.

The radio was playing classic rock, so even as they fell into silence, it felt comfortable. Richie lifted his phone, eyeing the bars in the corner as they stubbornly refused to find a signal. In a way, it was refreshing. He knew the minute they found any service, the phone was going to blow up with messages and missed calls and voicemails, so this was a nice reprieve. Just in case, he set his phone to vibrate before tucking it back into his shirt pocket.

“Thanks for this though man, seriously. I’m lucky you were out so late, I thought for sure I’d have to wait until morning.” He looked out at the window as the expanse of empty fields and trees coasted by.

“Were you headed to anywhere specific?” Eddie asked, diligently keeping his eyes on the road. “The odds aren’t good we’re getting any signal for a while, but if you need like, a specific exit or something, I can take you there.”

Richie turned to look at the man, taking in his nervous silhouette. “Oh, I’m-... I wasn’t really heading anywhere specific, so. I’m serious about leaving me by a cactus; I didn’t really have a destination in mind.”

Eddie looked weirdly… thoughtful at that. He gave a slow nod. “Just picked a direction and drove, huh?” he asked, wistfully.

Richie really took Eddie in then. He looked like he’d spent way too long thinking too hard, and he had suitcases in the back. He was driving at one in the morning, alone. There was a depth in his eyes as he watched the road. He was going just a touch over the speed limit. Enough to rush, but not so fast that any police could pull him over, just like Richie had done before his tire blew.

Eddie was running from something too.

“Not too different from what you’re doing, apparently,” Richie said, leaning his elbow against the window. “Guess I’m going wherever you’re going then.”

Eddie snorted and side-eyed him. “Crazy?”

Another laugh tore from Richie’s throat. “Oh, dude, that ship has _sailed.”_ He leaned back in his seat again and looked forward at the road with him.

Eddie snickered, and Richie watched his shoulders unclench and settle. “I guess I’m just… _going._ I couldn’t stand where I was and had to leave, that’s all.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t really planning a destination. ‘Away’ was enough.” He looked down at his lap for a fleeting, sheepish second before returning his eyes to the road.

Richie glanced at Eddie for a long time. He hummed once and looked back out the window, feeling more at ease in this moment than he ever had since he was scouted. “Me too.” He leaned his chin on his hand. “I hope ‘away’ is easier for you to find than me.”

If Eddie looked at him, he didn’t see, but he could feel it. Silence settled again, but there was a hum of understanding in it. It was a moment of solidarity. They both had something to get away from, and there didn’t seem to be a push to explain exactly what those things were. It was nice. It was unexpected.

And it was finally, finally quiet.

~

At some point, Richie had nodded off.. He flinched awake and looked down at his pocket, pulling the phone out as it hummed and hummed and hummed in an endless stream of messages. Richie gripped the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

“Popular guy,” he heard Eddie say.

“Yeah, I fucking hate it,” he mumbled back. He looked, and sure enough, nearly every call and text was his agent attempting to get a hold of him. He groaned at the list of seven voicemails waiting for him. He snorted. “Hey. Signal though. Where’s that cactus?”

Eddie snickered again. “I’m not dropping you off by a cactus, Richie, and there aren’t any cactuses out here.”

“Isn’t it cacti?”

“I might leave you tied to a tree though, you keep that up,” Eddie deadpanned, and Richie laughed again. “Sleep well, sleeping beauty?”

Richie squinted at the clock as his phone kept on humming. “How long’s it been?”

“Forty minutes,” Eddie said. “You need to take any of those calls you missed?”

Richie winced at his phone and shook his head. “No. Just gonna call the rental place about the car.”

Eddie gestured to an exit sign that was coming up. “There’s a motel up here. I think I need to sleep off some of this drive.”

“It is nearly two in the fucking morning, you’re a trooper for getting this far, honestly.” Richie looked at the screen of his phone as it continued to buzz but was steadily slowing down. “A motel’s probably a good idea. I can call them in the morning about the car.” He gave a yawn. “Clearly I need to get my head down.”

Eddie took the exit with his own yawn of agreement. As they drove down the less desolate road, past a few closed stores and a gas station, Richie gave his phone one more glance. Then, he flipped it into airplane mode and tucked it into his pocket, ready to ignore it until the morning.

“Wow. Are you gonna have a search party out for you or something?” Eddie asked. “Who the heck is calling you at two a.m.?”

Richie pursed his lips. Anybody calling him now would be people in another timezone. Eleven at night was more reasonable than two in the morning. “People who don’t understand the meaning of a good night’s sleep, that’s who. And that is why I’m ignoring it. They can call me when I’m good and awake, and that sure as hell ain’t right now.”

They pulled into the tiny motel parking lot in one of the few spots available. Eddie opened up his door as Richie reached into the backseat for his bag. He tugged out a hat and pulled off his glasses out of habit, squinting as he let his eyes adjust. He wouldn’t be able to see much of anything, but he could still maneuver. He threw the bag into his back and exited the car, following Eddie a good distance away in case he _was_ recognized. There was no use getting Eddie into trouble if he could avoid it.

He stood away from Eddie as he went through the process of getting his room first. He stood back by a rack near the door full of brochures, flipping through various pamphlets about local rivers and parks as he made an effort not to meet the eyes of the sole person at the desk. He couldn’t actually read what they said, but he likely wouldn’t be looking at any of them anyway.

“Hey Rich?”

Eddie’s voice interrupted his plan to check the vending machines and continue pretending he hadn’t arrived with him. “Uh, yeah? What’s up?” No stopping it now, he supposed.

Eddie gestured to the counter. “They’ve only got one room available.”

Richie blinked. “Oh. Then I can-... I mean, I’ll just find somewhere else to go, it’s not a big-”

“No, dude, I mean it’s got two beds, I’m asking if you mind bunking the one night.” Eddie tugged his wallet out of his pocket. “I can foot it, especially since you might have rental fees to pay-”

“Um no, excuse me, no you fucking won’t.” Richie took long strides to the counter and practically hip checked Eddie out of the way. “How much is a night?”

The receptionist arched a brow at him. “$127.”

Eddie gaped at his side. “What!? This is a motel off the highway, not some beachside hotel and spa!”

The receptionist shrugged and began typing away at her computer. “If you wanted it cheaper, you shoulda come during the day. Last minute bookings are extra.”

Something in Eddie snapped like a rubber band, and his hand grew stiff in the air, gesturing at her without actually pointing. _“Again,_ you are a _motel,_ and not some five star joint, there is literally no logical reason for your prices to be this fucking high-”

“We’ll take it, thanks,” Richie said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket.

Eddie turned to him sharply. “We will!?”

Richie rolled his eyes. “Eddie, the prices are as high as they are because they’re banking on you being too tired at this time a night to find somewhere else to go.” He beckoned at the woman. “Give him the key, I got it.”

“I’m not letting you pay for the whole thing, man, lemme-”

Richie turned to Eddie. “You picked me up on the side of the road in the middle of the night and gave me a ride; you’re not paying for _shit_ tonight.” He turned back to the receptionist. “Key please.”

She gave him a closed mouth smile, clearly taking offense to what he said, but not denying that it was exactly what she was trained to do. She handed the key to him, and Richie held it out to Eddie in turn. “Go get your bags out of the car, I’ve got the room.”

Eddie pursed his lips and crossed his arms, looking ready to fight him on it a little more. Then Richie watched the stubborn frown break for another yawn, and he reached up and snagged the key. “I’m buying breakfast, then.”

Richie rolled his eyes as Eddie walked around him and back out to his car.

The receptionist cleared her throat. “That’s gonna be $137.48, sir.”

Richie turned a careful, trained smile to her. “You know, when they say ‘highway robbery’, they mean you.” He set his cash out on the counter and began to count. He hadn’t brought much cash with him out of habit. A lot of things were bought for him, or his finances were handled by someone else. Or, if he were buying things with his card, he was already in a place where he was recognized, and it wasn’t a big deal.

After pulling a meagre $80 out of his wallet, he gave a sigh. “Have you got an ATM?”

The receptionist held her hand out. “We take card.” She sounded bored. Richie didn’t really blame her; this job looked to be about the most boring job there could be, working a counter at night when next to nobody would be coming in.

Richie set his jaw, took his money back, and handed her his card. Then, he braced for it.

It came quick enough. She typed a few things into the computer before glancing down at the card. As soon as she did, her eyes widened. “Oh my god.” She looked up at him. “Oh my _god,_ you’re Richie Tozier!”

“Congratulations, you have eyes. Run the card please, I’m very tired.”

Her face suddenly bloomed in a bright smile. “Of course! Of course, let me- Let me give you the employee discount.” She began tapping away at the keyboard again, likely in an effort to change the price to its correct amount. “It is so _great_ to meet you, I am a _huge_ fan.”

Richie closed his eyes and huffed reaching across the counter and planting his hand over the screen. “You were about to charge my friend a jacked up price for a room that you can probably catch the plague in. If you don’t see a big deal trying to swindle some rando who just wants to lay down, than you can swindle me too, just like everybody else.” He tapped the card where she’d left it in front of her on the counter. “Run the damn card.”

~

Richie walked through the door, finding Eddie struggling to pull out both of his suitcases. “You really need both of those for one night?” He asked, trotting up and helping him lift the heavier one out of the back.

Eddie set the first one down and gestured to it. “Well I’ve got my toiletries in this one, and my pajamas in that one, so.” He looked up and creased his brow in confusion. “What’s with the hat?”

Richie tilted the hat back off his head and tucked it under his arm. “Not a fan of fluorescent lights. They give me a headache.”

Eddie gave an understanding nod. “Is that why you took your glasses off too?”

“Yeah, if I keep them on, it just compounds the problem.” Richie had never been so proud of his ability to improvise.

“Well put them back on now, we don’t need you getting injured here. They probably don’t even have insurance.” Eddie shut the trunk of his SUV and grabbed the handle of the first suitcase. “Come on. I think we’re on the ground floor.”

“That’s lucky.”

Richie followed as Eddie led the way. He reached into the side pouch of his bag where he’d tucked his glasses and put them back on. Then, he peered up at Eddie as he kept up his sleepy march to the room. How long was he going to be able to keep who he was under wraps from this man? It shouldn’t have been a big deal if Eddie found out; it was inevitable that he would, even though they were only spending one night in the same room. The receptionist had already clocked him, it was only a matter of time before it happened within Eddie’s awareness. Or maybe it would never happen, and Eddie would realize later who he’d been. He’d have an interesting story to tell his friends, whatever the case.

Either way, they’d part ways after breakfast the next day, so it really didn’t matter. But Richie felt really lucky to have these few hours with someone who wasn’t asking him to crack a tired, old joke, or sign a DVD, or take a selfie when he was definitely not prepared for it. Eddie was a breath of fresh air. He snapped back when Richie teased, and it was nice.

It was just _nice._

“Ah-hah! Here we go.” Eddie jingled the key he’d been given, getting a decent hold of it and shoving it into the lock of the door. He struggled with it a few times before it finally turned and gave way, and he pushed it open.

The room was dark until Eddie flipped the light on. Immediately, he looked like he wanted to turn it right back off. “Holy shit, this place is disgusting.”

“Welcome to roadside hotels, Eddie,” Richie teased, sliding past him into the room and sneaking the suitcase inside as well.

“Motels,” the shorter man corrected. “And that is not an excuse for- for _this.”_ He managed to walk the rest of the way in and leaned his suitcase against the wall, shutting and locking the door. “God, the blankets look like those itchy ones you banish to the closet and reserve for guests you don’t like. And what the fuck is that stain on the floor!?”

Richie had left Eddie’s second suitcase standing in between the two beds and turned and amused smirk to him. “You wanna complain about the peeling wallpaper too?” He glanced into the corner of the room behind one of the beds. “Kinda looks like they went and papered over a blood stain, come look at this.”

Eddie gave a gasp of disgust. “Are you serious!? Are you fucking serious!?”

Richie cackled. “No, dude, I’m not serious. Probably nobody was murdered here, ever.”

_“Probably!?”_ Eddie wrapped his arms around himself. “This place could be crawling with bacteria and viruses. How the fuck am I supposed to sleep in a bed with green sheets? It’s not even an _appealing_ green! They’re like… mint green, they could have at least gone with emerald if they didn’t want to do white!” He huffed and ducked his head. “That’s it. I can’t do this, I’m sleeping in the SUV.”

Richie laughed again and made his way over to Eddie, catching his shoulder before he reached the door. “Eddie, buddy, relax. Millions of people have stayed in motels just like this one and nothing has happened to them.”

“I’m sure thousands of people have had the opposite experience.”

“I don’t doubt it, but the odds are massively low. _Stupidly_ low.” He patted the side of Eddie’s face once and turned away to claim a bed by the inner wall, flopping onto it with a short bounce. The bed creaked, but it held steady. He rolled onto his back and gave a satisfied sigh. “Oh yeah. Nice and firm, little worn in the middle, but still good.” He kicked his feet to toe off his shoes and shimmy up into the pillows. “Hop on in, the water’s fine!”

Eddie scoffed at him. “No! There could be bed bugs or something!”

“Then we’ll sue,” Richie teased. “Now I’m about to pass out, so if you don’t mind, tone down your hysteria to like a two, max.”

He closed his eyes and heard Eddie scoff. “‘Hysteria’,” he mocked, but Richie heard a suitcase being manhandled and unzipped. “I’ll show you hysteria when I wake up with hives.”

Richie didn’t stop the high pitched giggle that escaped his throat. A pillow was lobbed at his face and it turned into a full laugh.

“It’s not funny, dude.”

“I dunno, you’re a little funny.”

“Well you’re not funny at all.”

Richie pulled the pillow off his face and opened his eyes again, looking at the back of Eddie’s head. His face split into a wide grin as he watched him disappear into the bathroom, and he flopped back onto his mattress, tossing Eddie’s pillow back to his bed. This whole night had felt like his first interaction with a real life human being. Eddie wasn’t afraid to yell at him, or be mean. He wasn’t asking him personal questions, and he wasn’t even a fan. And for once in his life, he got to talk to somebody who didn’t think he was funny. It was fucking heaven.

After some maneuvering, Richie got himself under the covers (they were exactly the blankets that you gave to guests you didn’t like, but the sheets weren’t bad) and snuggled back into the pillows. He listened to the water run and Eddie brush his teeth diligently. There were shuffling noises, and then the door opened again, revealing Eddie in a two piece set of pajamas.

Richie snickered. “Wow. Just need your nightcap, and you’ll be all set.”

“Says the guys sleeping in his clothes.” Eddie shut the bathroom light off and wandered across the room, sealing up his suitcases again and shifting them off his bed and out of the way. “At least the bathrooms are clean. I think the light in there’s about to die, though.”

“Well that’ll be a problem for the next guest. Or me, in the morning when I’ve gotta take a leak.”

Eddie snorted.

Richie beamed. “You know, for a guy who doesn’t think I’m funny, you’re doing an awful lot of laughing.” Richie took his glasses off and lobbed them to the bedside table.

“Fuck you, dude, you’re like, the lowest hanging fruit style of humor here.”

_You have no idea._ Richie snickered at him and closed his eyes. “Well, good night, Eds. Don’t let the potentially literal bed bugs bite.”

He heard Eddie shudder. _“God,_ I hate this so much.” Eddie shifted the blankets down, still standing for a while as he gave the bed a once over in the light. After a few minutes, he gave a sigh of resolve. The light went out, the second bed creaked, and Eddie finally laid down for some rest. “...Hey Richie?”

“What’s up?”

“Have we met before?”

Richie’s insides went cold, and he opened his eyes to the dim light of the no vacancy sign streaming in through the shoddily curtained window. The illusion of normalcy seemed inches away from shattering. Richie could take the hammer and do the job himself, easily. Just admit that he’s been on TV. Admit that he’s famous. Rip the band-aid off. “Uh,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t think so.” Instead, he dug his claws into the facade tighter. “I think I’d remember meeting a leprechaun before now.”

Eddie made an indignant noise, and a pillow was chucked across the room again at Richie’s face. “Fuck you, man!” But the laugh was still behind that anger. It back lit it and silhouetted it into a sound Richie thought he could get used to hearing. “I am five-nine, thank you very much, that’s a perfectly respectable, _average_ height.”

Richie lobbed the pillow back across the room. “That sounds like a statistic only a hobbit would know.”

An exasperated sigh filled the room, crossed with a groan. “Good _night,_ Richie.”

Richie snickered and closed his eyes. “Night, Eddie.”

Bullet dodged for now. If Eddie had seen him in something before, it was definitely only a matter of time before the recognition hit. But for now, he was still in the clear. He was still a person and not some extraterrestrial to be poked and prodded and oohed and aahed. Richie could just be Richie for a little while longer.

He hoped it lasted.

~

The morning was uneventful. Richie was nudged politely awake by Eddie around nine a.m. because check out was apparently at ten for some god awful reason. He showered, put back on the same clothes he was wearing the night before (and the night before that), and made his way to the front desk. There was a different, just as jaded looking receptionist there to accept the key, thankfully not looking any harder at Richie than needed to just take the key from him. He hurried out to the SUV where Eddie was waiting, suitcases already loaded back in his vehicle.

They drove in pleasant silence to the nearest place to eat— Waffle House. Eddie looked at the menu over his folded hands as if he were pondering the meaning of life. “I feel like I’m committing some sort of sin just being here,” Eddie groaned. “Everything on this menu is gonna stick in my arteries. I can _feel_ the grease already.”

Richie had been holding back laughter since he sat down. “Please tell me you’ve eaten at Waffle House before.”

“Nope. And I’m realizing why _very quickly.”_ Eddie closed his eyes and leaned his face in his hands. “Does this place even have a leaf of lettuce in the same _zip code?”_

Richie couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Just get eggs, man! Eggs and toast or something. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe somebody’ll even make you egg whites.”

Eddie sighed deeply and calmly, pulling his hands from his face. “Sorry. I know all I’ve done is complain. I’m not used to any of this.”

“Bit different than what you usually eat I guess?”

Eddie snorted. “That’s putting it lightly. Everything I’m used to eating was tasteless, but at least it was healthy.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “It just feels strange to not have somebody else nagging my poor choices, so I feel like I’ve gotta do it myself.”

Richie snickered. “Yeah I’m not gonna be any help there; I’m a habitual enabler.”

Eddie eyed the menu a little longer, tapping his thumb on the underside of the table. He still looked deep in thought, chewing on the inside of his lip, as if he was trying to make a life or death decision. “What would you recommend, then, mister enabler?”

Richie arched a brow at him. “You want my suggestion?”

“Yeah. What am I eating?”

Richie squinted his eyes at the blur that was Eddie (he was sans glasses and plus hat again; Eddie had tried to make him take the hat off on account of it being rude, but every trucker already in the restaurant retained their hats as they ate, so Eddie backed down). He glanced at the menu again and hummed. “Well, if you’re gonna eat something your first time at Waffle House, it may as well be waffles.” He tapped the item on Eddie’s menu. “I’d get the pecan ones, honestly.”

“I-... I might be allergic to those.”

Richie tapped the menu again. “Don’t get the pecan ones.”

Eddie did, in fact, order waffles and only waffles. Richie wound up with a mound of hashbrowns that was more toppings than potatoes, as well as two eggs and several pieces of bacon. As much as he wanted to dive right in and make a mess of the plate, Richie held himself back as he watched Eddie pour a meagre drizzle of syrup over the waffles. He rolled his long sleeves up over startlingly well toned arms and set his napkin in his lap. He cut a bite free, a small, sensible one, and ate it after a slow inhale through his nose. The strange mix of guilt and relief that bloomed on Eddie’s face as he closed his eyes brought a grin to Richie’s.

Richie snorted and stabbed an ugly, uncut bit of his own food. “So how’s life out from under the rock treating you?”

Eddie’s eyes opened only to narrow at Richie. He swallowed. “I’ve had waffles before, asshole.”

“Not for a while, clearly.” Richie said, shoveling the large bite into his mouth. He gestured at Eddie with his fork. “Eggosh don’ coun’.”

“Jesus, don’t talk with your mouth full, that’s fucking disgusting. I lived under a rock, sure, but you were raised in a damn barn.” Eddie looked down at Richie’s many plates. The overloaded hashbrowns had taken up so much space, there hadn’t been enough room for the rest of his food. “I don’t understand how you can eat a monstrosity like that and somehow still look like twenty-seven toothpicks made man.”

Richie nearly choked on his food and threw his fist over his mouth to muffle the laugh. He eventually was able to swallow the bite. “Metabolism, baby!” He looked away from Eddie and focus on his plate again. “Also helps that this isn’t my usual diet either. But every once in a while, papa’s gotta eat.”

A smile broke out on Eddie’s face finally as he laughed, exasperated. “Okay, don’t say those words as a sentence ever, _ever_ again, for the sake of literally anyone with ears.” He ate another bite of his waffles.

Richie pouted around his hashbrowns, but it morphed into a grin he couldn’t help. He laughed through his nose and did Eddie the favor of not speaking again.

It was finally Eddie that broke the silence. Halfway through his waffle, he set his fork down and clasped his hands. “I’m really… not used to any of this,” he began, voice lower and wavering, tapering off like he had more to say. Richie swallowed his hashbrown and continued keeping his mouth shut, hoping his lack of response would encourage Eddie to fill the void again.

And fill the void, he did. “My entire life, I felt like I’ve been under someone’s thumb. My mother kept me sick so I wouldn’t leave home, and when I finally did, I wound up with a wife who did the same damn thing. Controlled everything… Eat this, don’t eat that, don’t go outside in the cold, don’t be you, don’t have _fun.”_ Eddie’s gaze was locked on the waffle, right hand rubbing his left.

Richie’s own eyes found those nervous hands and realized that he was rubbing a pale band of skin around his left ring finger. A blank space where there had once been a ring. He was rubbing at the soft skin there like a prisoner who’d finally been freed from his shackles. Richie realized now why Eddie was running.

“Sounds like a bitch,” Richie finally said, wincing internally at his own callousness.

Eddie only snorted. “My wife, or my mother? Or my life?”

“Any?” Richie offered. “All?”

Eddie’s amused smirk bloomed into a full smile as he laughed. “Thanks for summing that up for me.” Eddie lifted his fork again, but only to scoot the half a waffle across the plate. “I guess I’m just afraid I don’t know what the fuck to do without being pushed around.”

Richie tilted his head and leaned his chin on his hand. “If it makes you feel any better, that’s a decent description of my life, too. Pushed around. It just doesn’t look like it on the surface.” He looked down at his own left hand, staring at the golden ring he’d not yet taken off. “See this?” He held his head up so Eddie could see.

Eddie blinked at it as it glinted in the light. “You’re married?”

Richie shook his head. “Nope. Never had a wife in my life.” He took the ring off of his finger and balanced it on the table. “But I’ve gotta keep up appearances. It looks better for a guy like me to have a ball and chain than to be a perpetual bachelor.” He spun the ring so it twirled like a top between their plates.

Eddie watched the ring spin for a while. It looked like he was seconds from cracking the world’s greatest secrets when he reached out his hand and clapped it over the ring, ceasing its movement and laying it flat. He lifted his hand and stared at the dead, still piece of jewelry. Richie stared at it as well, feeling weirdly warm as a man he’d met yesterday crushed the lie he was running from, and everything it represented, under his hand like a bug. Eddie sniffed once and pulled his hand away to lift up his coffee. “Here’s to losing the ball and chain, then.”

Richie lifted his gaze to Eddie’s eyes, now earnest, and dark, and soft, and _something._ Richie felt his lungs refuse to take in air for a moment, but he forced himself to smile and lift his coke to tap Eddie’s mug. “Cheers, mate,” he said, a fake English lilt in his voice that made Eddie snort and those dark eyes pinch at the corners.

Richie felt nine again, and he was watching some boys playing kickball at recess. He was twelve, and watching his friend’s lips too closely as he spoke. He was thirteen, at camp, and swimming with a boy he’d met that week. The deep, bassline thrum of his heart echoed from his past like a curse and beat a steady pulse against his ribs. It was a warm warning. It was a soft coffin.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut and drank his soda.

~

Richie took a deep breath as he grabbed his backpack from the floor of Eddie’s car and shouldered it. He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned airplane mode back off, wincing at the ceaseless sound of humming from the influx of notifications. He hissed a laugh and shut the door, turning to where Eddie stood rubbing his arm. “Well, I’m gonna wait until that dies down a bit before I call.”

“May wanna block that number too, even if it’s just temporarily.” Eddie gestured at the phone.

Richie smirked and nodded. “Yeah, I’ll probably do that. Either that or I’ll just trash this one and get a burner. _Really_ go on the run, ya know?” He tucked the buzzing phone in his pocket and smiled at Eddie. “Thanks again for everything. I’d still be stuck on the roadside if it weren’t for you, so.”

Eddie gave a bashful smile. “Oh, I doubt that, someone else might have come along. You’d have been fine.” His words were tight, like he was choosing them carefully.

Richie offered him his hand. “Well, it probably wouldn’t have been as fun with anyone else.” Eddie blinked at his hand before reaching out and grabbing it. Richie gave it a squeeze. “Thanks for being out past your bedtime. It was fantastic to meet you, seriously.”

Eddie gave a stilted nod. “Good to meet you too, Richie.” He swallowed visibly. “I hope you find somewhere to go.”

“You too,” Richie said, pointed. Eddie seemed more nervous than before, so Richie reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I bet you’ll find your ‘away’ soon, Eddie. Enjoy your life as a free man, all right?”

Eddie nodded and ducked his head. If anything he looked worse. Richie frowned for a moment, but he forced another smile and squeezed that shoulder. “Have a good life, man. Go make it happen.” He gave him one more squeeze and let go, tearing his eyes away from those nervous dark ones and forcing his feet to carry him away. He didn’t want to know what else his heart would do if he kept getting stuck in that gaze.

Richie had known for decades that he was gay. He knew the minute he’d learned to kiss with his best friend Stanley Uris that he would never want to kiss a girl in his life on purpose. And it scared him. He’d seen what happened to adults who were gay, and he heard the way people talked about them. It wasn’t a safe thing to be. It took every ounce of his willpower to admit it to Stanley, who was definitively queer himself, because telling someone, _anyone,_ meant that he no longer had control of the secret. But Stan had never told a soul, and to this day, he remained the only one who ever knew.

Richie kept all those urges in. He’d been scared of how people would react when he was a nobody waiter, and that fear only became all encompassing when the fame kicked in. The opinions of ten to twenty people were suddenly increased to the opinions of thousands of people. _Millions_ of people. When he wrote his own routines, he left out his personal experiences to keep people from knowing. Nobody wanted to hear about a man who’s first crush had been another boy in his gym class who handed him his glasses after the well-aimed kickball knocked them off. Nobody wanted to know how his first kiss had been his best male friend because he didn’t want to kiss a girl. Nobody wanted to hear how his biggest regret was that he did not get to kiss a boy at summer camp. So he kept his work impersonal. And that was what prompted his manager to hire the writer that turned his lie of omission into a flat out lie.

He’d felt like he’d been holding his breath for years now. He’d held it of his own volition, and only now, as he tried to breathe, did he realize he was being suffocated.

“Richie, wait!”

Richie’s heart leapt into his throat and stayed there as Eddie’s voice rang in his ears. He turned around from his trek and found Eddie jogging after him. “What’s up? Did I leave something in your-”

“Can I say something crazy?” Eddie spat out before Richie could finish.

Richie blinked at him, flinching internally. Eddie must have finally realized where he knew him. “Go for it.” May as well get it over with.

“Come with me.”

Richie’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. That was not what he was expecting. “I-... Y-...” His tongue would not form words. It tangled and twisted and left him looking dumb.

Eddie’s hands came up in defense. “I know, I’m sorry, it sounds insane, and I know we don’t know each other, but I-” He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, crossing his arms. “I’m so fucking scared I’m gonna get back in that car alone, and I’m gonna talk myself into going back. I don’t-... I don’t know how to do this on my own yet, I don’t know where I’m going, and you don’t really have a destination in mind. What if we- we travel _together_ until we figure it out? I’ll be your ride, you be my enabler.”

Richie only stared, locked in the gaze of those dark, worried eyes. Eddie’s hands were tucked under his arms, and his shoulders were tight near his ears. He looked like he was ready to run at any moment, and he was wearing his trembling heart on his sleeve. It was a big request that must have taken so much to ask a stranger. He was terrified.

“What do you think?” he asked, voice having lost its previous confidence.

Richie swallowed and pulled a breath into his lungs. Those eyes had already burrowed through him and dug in their claws. He’d not be escaping it now.

“Let’s do it, Eds.”

~


	2. Roll the Dice

They stop at a department store as soon as they find one. Deciding to Leave It All Behind™ was all well and good, but doing so without any supplies was a nightmare. Eddie had the right idea, packing everything he owned into a couple of suitcases, but Richie hadn’t been able to do that. When he’d run from his show in Nevada, he ran in the opposite direction of home. He knew setting foot in LA would be chaos, because he was significantly easier to spot when people were on the watch for celebrities at all times. His manager probably had lookouts set up around his building in case he came around.

And so, he stood in front of the sunglasses rack with an armful of new clothes, trying on different shades as he waited for Eddie to get out of the changing room. Despite having his suitcases, Eddie was adamant that he get some new clothes as well. ‘I want to wear something that doesn’t smell like home,’ he’d said, and Richie didn’t argue.

He wondered a lot about Eddie’s old home life. He had the bare minimum to go on—his wife was overbearing. But the extent to which Eddie was going to get away from her felt excessive for something so simple. Richie expected that there was more to Eddie’s story that was scaring him so badly anytime the concept of going back was brought up. But he wasn’t going to ask. That’s not why he was there. He was there to provide company and be an enabler. Eddie had reached out and asked a complete stranger for help, and by god was Richie going to provide the best he could.

It had a little to do with how staring into those dark eyes made him feel, but people have done crazier things for a pretty face.

“What do you think?" Eddie’s question tugged Richie away from his reflection. Eddie was wearing a deep red flannel and dark jeans, arms out as if presenting himself. It was the most adventurous he’d gotten with things he’d picked out to try on. Beyond that, he’d selected a few plain shirts, and only one of them wasn’t white.

Richie pulled the current sunglasses down his nose, blowing the tag out of the way and squinting so his view of Eddie became marginally clearer. “Oh, it’s  _ fabulous _ darling,” he said, forcing an over the top accent into his voice. “It’s fierce, it’s  _ bold.  _ It says ‘never talk to me or my log cabin ever again, eh’.”

Eddie deflated and dropped his arms to his sides. “Look, I’m trying, okay? I don’t-... I haven’t consciously bought myself clothes for a while. Myra just came home with things, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Richie felt sympathy fill his chest, and he pulled the sunglasses off completely. “Whoa, hey, easy there Eds. That wasn’t meant to be a dig at you; you look good. Very Paul Bunyan lite.”

Eddie closed his eyes in frustration. “I’m  _ serious.” _

“So am I, man." Richie reached out to pat Eddie’s plaid-clad shoulder. “You look good. And don’t worry about what other people think. Get stuff that  _ you _ like.”

Eddie arched a brow at him and glanced at Richie’s armful of clothes. “I don’t know if I should be taking that advice from you,” he said, the nerves leaving his voice as he smirked at the loud, floral printed, button-down shirt sitting proud on top of the pile.

Richie gave him a mock pout. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie laughed. “It means I think you should probably wear your glasses before trying on clothes, dude." He tilted his head. “How blind are you without them, exactly?”

“Uh,” Richie winced. “It’s not-... I mean, I’m not really-”

Eddie rolled his eyes and held his arms out. “Can you even see me clear enough to make a judgement call on this shirt?”

Richie made an ‘eh’ noise and wiggled his hand in the air.

Eddie inched closer. “Now?”

Richie pursed his lips.

Eddie stepped closer again until he was a little over a foot away, and Richie was staring straight down into those dark eyes. Blurry, blurry, dark eyes.  _ “Now?” _

Richie gave him an awkward smile and an apologetic shrug.

Eddie scoffed. “Seriously!? You definitely need to wear your fucking glasses in public." He stepped out of Richie’s space, which took away a heat Richie hadn’t realized was there until it was gone. Richie fought a shiver.

“It’s not that big a deal. I can still see like, fuzzy shapes and shit." He gestured to the blur that was Eddie. “You’re a very attractive rectangle. Please buy the shirt.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “If you trip on something and crack your head open, I am not the one at fault." And then he took his leave back into the changing room.

Richie took a deep, stabling breath and gripped the side of the sunglasses rack, staring at the mirror. His blurry, nervous face stared right back and mocked him for his feelings all over again. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d locked eyes with an attractive, straight man, and his mouth went dry. Other times, of course, the interactions were so fleeting that he could push the need to hyperventilate out of his lungs and go on laughing. Now, he was effectively trapped with a source for those terrifying feelings he’d shoved so far down, he knew he would burst one day. And he had no one to blame but himself.

Eddie came back out of the changing room in his own clothes with his choices folded over his arm. “All right, I’m done trying clothes, let’s get everything else we need,” he huffed, sounding frustrated.

Richie went to comment, but he stopped as he watched Eddie pick a direction and walk. He saw the hint of a deep, red blur near the bottom of his stack. Richie beamed. Eddie was getting the shirt, successfully enabled. Richie pushed the feelings down once more and followed after him.

They picked up enough supplies that Eddie eventually had to run and get them a cart, leaving Richie to aimlessly wander the electronics section with his arms loaded with their prospective purchases. He perused the many CDs on the racks, ambling along as he had no hands free to properly inspect anything. At some point, he’d wound up near the photography section and was staring rather hard at some of the camera options when he heard a cart approaching.

“Fuck’s sake, Richie, do you ever hold still?" Eddie wheeled the cart to Richie so he could unload everything into it, which he did unceremoniously by opening his arms and letting everything fall straight into the red basket. Eddie gave him a disapproving look, and continued. “I left you by the books, and I find you halfway across the store.”

Richie only smiled. “I’m like a shark, Ed-o. Gotta keep moving or I’ll die. Also, I’m only—” he leaned up to look over the many aisles in the store. “—seven aisles away from where you left me.”

“Yeah, you’re just lucky you’re a bean pole, and I can see you over all this shit." Eddie set a tube of toothpaste in the basket, gently and pointedly looking at Richie as he did so.

Richie ignored the look and kept on smiling, going back to squinting at the cameras. “Meanwhile I’d never find you. I’d lose you behind the bin of teddy bears if I’m not careful. Hey, excuse me,” he interrupted his teasing to spin and face a worker who’d chosen right then to walk by. “I wanna buy this camera.”

The worker, who’s nametag betrayed her as Marjorie, turned to where Richie was pointing. “The 660?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure. One sec." She unhooked a ring of keys from her belt and unlocked the case, pulling out a box. “Mind buying it here?”

“Not at all.”

She beamed at him. “Right this way." She walked away to the counter.

“Are you seriously dropping $150 on a vintage camera?” Eddie asked as Richie followed Marjorie.

Richie spun and walked backward to face Eddie. “You brought me along to be the impulse guy, so obviously, I’m gonna impulse buy.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and pushed the cart after him. “All right, Dr. Seuss, just don’t blow your whole wad in one day.”

Richie barked a laugh.

As Marjorie was bagging the camera, she kept glancing up at Richie’s face. He knew she’d noticed something, and he sent a quick glance toward Eddie, who was leaning on the grocery cart and doing something with his phone. Then he looked back at Marjorie, whose eyes were widening with the telltale sign of recognition.

Richie winced internally and quickly brought a finger to his lips in hopes that she’d stay quiet. He gestured to his purchase, and that seemed to shake her out of her awe.

“Right, sorry! Uh, $158.61, please." Her voice was rushed, but she was making an effort to keep her excitement as under wraps as possible.

Richie gave her a grateful smile and ran his card. As the receipt printed out, and Marjorie handed it to him with a trembling hand, he took it and set it on the counter, snatching a pen out of a nearby cup. He scribbled on the receipt that did not require him to sign, the ink clearly marking it up, and then shook the pen. “Shit. Could you give me some paper, I think this pen is dying,” he said, glancing at the receipt printer with a conspiratory look.

Marjorie said nothing and only stared with those wide, awe-filled eyes as she blindly patted the machine for the feed button, ripping free a small section of paper which she pushed toward him. Richie tugged it over and immediately wrote a quick note on the new, empty sheet.

**_You’re a lifesaver!_ **

**_Richie Tozier_ **

Marjorie bit her lip to keep from beaming as Richie slid the paper and pen back at her and discreetly pocketed his receipt and snatched his bag from the counter. He shot her a finger gun and walked back to Eddie’s side.

Eddie hadn’t once looked up from his phone, and Richie gave a sigh of relief. “Where to?”

“Books, where you should have been,” Eddie ribbed, gripping the handle of the cart and pushing it away.

Richie followed him, swinging his bagged purchase as if it wasn’t an expensive camera. He had found, over time, if he wanted to not be recognized in public places, the easiest thing to do was back his weak disguise with nonchalance. His shoulders were low and easy, his free hand was stuffed in his pocket, and his gait was relaxed. Doing anything else drew attention. If he caved to his need to hide, his shoulders rose, his walk sped up, and people grew suspicious. It took a lot of work to look this comfortable, no matter what was on the inside.

As he passed a five dollar DVD bin, that discomfort threatened to bubble to the surface. A familiar color scheme caught his eye, and his feet drew him towards it, enough to make out what he already knew. From the center of the titles, his own face stared up at him, a smug grin on a younger face that wasn’t any less scared if you really focused. He lifted it up and scowled down at himself.

He remembered this special. ‘All Downhill From Here‘ was the show where he’d introduced the world to his nameless concept of a girlfriend. The show that started the big lie he had to perpetuate in interview after interview, smiling through every single question. Looking at it churned something in Richie’s stomach, and his face felt hot.

“Find any gems?”

Eddie’s voice made him nearly drop the DVD, and Richie snapped his attention to him. Eddie was still a ways away, apparently having noticed that Richie had stopped again, but not coming to investigate. “What?”

Eddie pointed at the bin. “The cheap movie bins sometimes hide the good stuff.”

Richie snorted and looked down at his face again. “Nah. Nothing good this time. I’m not on surprise vacation to watch bad stand-up anyway.”

Eddie smiled and turned away to walk back to the books.

Richie scowled at his own, stupid face a little longer before shoving some other titles away and stuffing the special as far into the bowels of the bin as he could. He buried it and walked away.

The book aisle wasn’t extensive, being in a department store, but it still had a decent variety. Eddie plucked a few titles down, hummed over them, and tucked them back where he found them. A few books made their way into the cart, and Eddie went back to the rack.

“Big reader?” asked Richie, watching a few more titles fail to make the cut and end up back on the shelf.

Eddie hummed again, setting another book in the cart. “Yeah, I’ve always wanted to read more. Never really got the chance." He lifted another book. “May as well start from scratch now, right? Why wait.”

“Ooh, good answer." Richie tilted his head and read the spine of the book in Eddie’s hand. Then he smirked. “‘The Precipice of Antipathy’, huh? You a Denbrough fan?”

Eddie glanced at him over the back of the book. “I dunno yet. Never read anything by Denbrough. He any good?”

“Well, his endings leave a lot to be desired, but he writes some pretty great characters. You might like that one.”

That particular novel was one that Richie was, in fact, very familiar with. It had been made into a movie four years ago, and Richie had been cast to play the witty palate cleanser part of a bartender. He had been the prime pick, because not only was he a big name in comedy by that time, he’d had experience as a bartender and didn’t have to be taught much for the role. It had been a fun ride, the director loved him, and the writer was on set for the duration. Despite the chaos of his career, he’d made quite a few good memories with that movie.

And a few sad ones.

Richie’s grin flinched, and he ducked his head. “Definitely get that one. It’s one of his better ones.”

Eddie squinted a concerned eye at him as he set the book in the cart. “You okay?”

Richie blinked the memories out of his head and smiled. “Yeah man, I’m great.”

After some pit stops in a few more aisles (including the bedding aisle where Eddie disappeared into and returned with his arms full of new sheets, pillows, and a blanket), they made their way to check out. Richie guided them to a self check out to the tune of Eddie complaining about that as well.

“You realize this just encourages corporations like this to rely more on machines than people. You won’t even see manned checkout counters pretty soon,” he grumbled despite not making the effort to move to another line.

Richie scoffed as he continued plucking his own purchases out of the cart and beeping them through. “That’s definitely coming from an optimist’s perspective.”

Eddie’s brow dipped in confusion. “How’s that work exactly?”

“You have faith the greater populace to not fuck up bagging their own shit.”

“Oh please, people aren’t that bad at things.”

Richie arched an eyebrow and smirked over at him. “You sure about that?" He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m blind as fuck right now, but even I just saw self checkout four put a gallon of milk right on his eggs.”

Eddie followed his gaze and winced. “...Fair.”

Richie snickered and went back to snagging items from the cart. He pulled the plaid shirt up and scanned it through.

“Oh, that one was mine,” came Eddie’s reply, reaching for the shirt.

Richie tugged it out of his reach and threw it in a bag with his own shirts. He then grabbed another piece of clothing Eddie selected, looking him right in the eyes as he scanned that as well.

Eddie glared. “Richie, I can buy my own clothes, stop!”

“Nope.”

“You already paid for the hotel, you really don’t have to-”

“And you bought breakfast." Richie tugged a pair of pants out of Eddie’s reach. “Come on, I’ll get hotels and supplies, you worry about food and gas.”

“Clothes aren’t  _ supplies-” _

“They are  _ too _ supplies. Being that you fit in a breadbox, I’m pretty sure I can take you, so do you wanna keep fighting me on this, or do you wanna start handing me things?" Richie’s grin stayed in place as he held out his hand.

Eddie pursed his lips. Then he reached in and handed him one of the books. “For the record, I could definitely take you.”

Richie took the book with a smile. “Yeah, you’d have to go for the knees though.”

Eddie selected a paperback book next and whacked Richie in the shoulder with it.

~

They didn’t bother unpacking the plastic bags until they were settling into the next hotel. It was another roadside one, with very few accommodations, but Richie hadn’t been recognized here, and they had their choice of rooms. It was also the significantly more reasonable price of fifty for the night, which Eddie was quite happy to learn.

As Eddie spent his time unpacking the newly bought sheets and pillows and nearly ripping the hotel-provided ones off to mercilessly replace them, Richie went about yanking tags off clothing and folding them to the best of his ability (only for Eddie’s purchases; Richie’s were balled up and tossed in his bag). When he got done with that, he unbagged the camera and it’s film. “Ah, I can’t wait to use this baby." He opened the box and began assembling.

“I still can’t believe you bought that. I’m pretty sure my cell phone takes better pictures than that thing,” Eddie nagged from where he was busy flaring the sheet over his bed.

Richie smirked at him. “Hey, don’t knock the classics. I’m going for nostalgia here.”

“Ah yes, the nostalgia of shaky photos you can’t retake.”

“Are you doubting my steady hands?”

Eddie grinned. “Am I a dick if I say yes?”

Richie didn’t answer verbally. Instead, having freshly clicked the film into place, he lifted the camera at Eddie and snapped a picture.

The flash went off and Eddie flinched, dropping the end of the sheet. “Hey!”

Richie smirked as the polaroid slid out of the bottom. He pinched the corner between his fingers and tugged it free, shaking the picture out. “I’m sure this is gonna be an immaculate shot, mister doubtful.”

Eddie rubbed his eyes with a fist. “Well it won’t be  _ now.  _ You’re not actually supposed to shake the new polaroids, you know.”

Richie stuck his tongue out and looked down at the picture as it slowly began to develop. “Well prepare to have your doubts crushed in like… fifteen minutes." He set the picture down on the dresser and went back to the bags. Eddie continued fixing up his bed, and Richie picked up Eddie’s bag of books. “Oh hey, where do you want your fun-sized library?”

“You can put them in the big green suitcase. Put them in the mesh pocket on the inside." Eddie pulled the big comforter free from its casing and unfolded it to throw it over the bed.

Richie nodded and carried the bag over to the suitcase, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He laid the case on its back and smiled as he unzipped it. “All right, let’s see what makes Eddie tick, shall we?”

Eddie snorted. “Jokes on you, I don’t have a lot to go through.”

“You would be surprised what juicy secrets I can uncover based on a man’s wardrobe. For example,” he tugged a pale blue polo out, unfolding it. “I can tell from this here shirt that you haven’t had fun a day in your life,” he said, pulling the most ridiculous southern accent he could from his arsenal.

Eddie barked a laugh. “Well you’d be wrong already then, Colonel Sanders.”

Richie laughed along with him. “Yeah, okay. When was the last time you actually enjoyed yourself?”

Eddie paused then. Richie went tense, hoping he hadn’t asked the wrong thing. He turned to Eddie and found him standing there, still gripping the blanket by the end and staring at the opposite wall.

“Uh,” Richie winced. “You don’t have to-”

“No, sorry, I just-" Eddie looked down at the surface of the bed. Then he gave a bitter laugh and rubbed his face with one hand. “Would you believe I can’t remember?”

Richie’s empathy skyrocketed then. There was a panic in that laugh, like it was absurd that Eddie couldn’t think of anything, and Richie got it in his head that he wanted to hug the shorter man. He probably needed it.

But they were strangers. And that likely wouldn’t go over very well. “Well I guarantee you won’t forget this trip,” he promised, smiling at him. “Whether it’s because you enjoyed yourself, or you decided to murder me and bury me on the roadside is the question, but hey. Dream big.”

Eddie snorted and broke out into a laugh, exactly as Richie hoped he would. The stress had gone, and the air was light again. Richie turned back to the suitcase and inspected the mesh pocket. He unzipped it and peered inside to see the pages of yet another book face him. “Did you buy several new books when you haven’t even read the one you already  _ have, _ you monster?" He reached in and pulled it out, ready to make a joke about cheating on the poor thing with newer, younger books, but the minute he could see the cover, something stopped him.

_ The Lost Language of Cranes _

He knew for a fact that he had never read the book. He had no idea what it was about. The mental image of a young version of himself painstakingly folding a piece of paper over and over again, getting papercut after papercut to eventually result in a crane came to mind at first, a beautifully painful memory by itself, but there was something else about this book that churned something in Richie’s gut—something that felt ashamed.

“Er,” Eddie stumbled for words. “That one’s-… it-..." He hummed thoughtfully. “That one’s kind of a personal project. For me. To read. I think I need to read some other stuff before I get to that one." He hurriedly finished straightening the blanket and headed for his new pillows, not looking at Richie as he spoke.

Richie watched him for a few seconds and then looked back down at the book. The cover was familiar, but he could not for the life of him remember where he’d seen it. “Can I read it?" He heard his mouth ask before he could think. “Since you’re not right now, I mean.”

Eddie turned to him finally and looked at the book for a moment. “I don’t-... I don’t know if it’s something you’d actually like.”

“Eh, you’d be surprised,” Richie said idly, flipping open the cover and reading the summary inside the jacket.

‘Blood running cold’ was never something Richie understood the meaning of until now.

**_‘—spends his Sunday afternoons in a gay pornographic movie theatre in the grip of an unbearable obsession.’_ **

Richie’s eyes froze mid-paragraph. The book suddenly weighed a hundred pounds and was threatening to fall from a hand that was doing it’s best not to shake. He forced his lungs to take in a breath and dared to look up at Eddie.

He was no longer facing him. Eddie had turned away, his head lowered and his focus wholly on the pillows he was trying to fit into their cases. His shoulders were tense and up near his ears, like he was expecting a blow, verbal or otherwise.

He was  _ scared. _

Richie forced himself to relax as the weight of this discovery settled. He’d been standing there feeling terror like a child caught holding something he wasn’t supposed to, but he’d found it in  _ Eddie’s things. _ If Richie was a guilty child, so was Eddie. “Yeah,” Richie finally said, looking back down at the book. “Definitely gonna read this one.” He looked up and smiled as if it was no big deal, but there was a tone in his voice that betrayed his own nerves.

Eddie glanced over his shoulder just as Richie looked up again, and they shared a  _ look. _ Richie didn’t know what it meant, but whatever it was, it was something. They wouldn’t talk about it. They didn’t have to. They were strangers. There was no push for them to admit or reveal anything, and neither of them were going to judge the other for whatever they did learn.

Perhaps, if he was reading the room correctly, they had more in common than he thought.

Richie set the book aside and picked up the new ones. “Right, so, mesh pocket.”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

~

_ Water. He was in the water. It was cold and not very clear, and even with his glasses on, it was difficult to see beneath the surface. The only light aside from the small circle of moon above was a beam from below, in the pebbled sand beneath his toes. _

_ He watched the moon above for a few seconds, holding his breath. It felt like he might be running out of air, but he didn’t need to breathe. _

_ He felt small. Smaller, smaller than he should be, smaller than he was on the outside too, and smaller still. _

_ The water barely quaked. _

_ A fish swam close by. _

_ There was only the tiniest ripple above from bubbles. _

_ Bubbles. _

_ Bubbles. _

_ Bubbles not from him. _

_ He slowly followed a trail of bubbles down to find their source. _

_ There was a face. _

_ Close. _

_ Blurry. _

_ Staring, lit by the light from below. _

_ Their mouth opened in a rush of bubbles. _

**_“Richie!”_ **

~

“-ichie!” Eddie’s voice snapped him awake, followed by the sound of a door shutting. “Get up, man, it’s almost ten.”

Richie groaned into his pillow and lifted his head, finding Eddie there by the desk with two coffees in his hands. “Mmmwah…? Already?”

“What do you mean ‘already’? You fell asleep as soon as you hit the bed last night. You’ve been out almost twelve hours.” Eddie picked up one of the coffees and a small paper bag and set it on the bedside table. “I couldn’t remember how you take your coffee, so I just brought a bunch of stuff.”

Richie’s head flopped back down in the pillows. “Aw, Eddie, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m food and gas, you promised. Besides, it was free.” Eddie walked across the room again and set up his suitcases, which had already been repacked. The bedding he’d set up was already folded neatly with his new pillows stacked on top. He must have been up for a while already. “We’re lucky this place has complimentary coffee until noon, or you’d be outta luck.”

Richie snorted and rolled onto his back to stretch. “Nah, I saw a McDonald’s on the way here, we coulda stopped there.”

Eddie stood up straight. “Okay, I let you talk me into diner food, but I am  _ drawing the line _ at fast food.”

“Come ooon,” Richie teased as he pushed himself to sit up. “Live a little. McDonald’s fries are like god tier food. Though, only if you finish them in the first five minutes. After that, it’s like trying to eat crusty shoestrings.”

Eddie made a face and gagged. “Okay no! No, I’m  _ not _ going to eat something that has a time limit on how long it tastes like actual  _ food!” _ Eddie made his way to the bathroom. “We’re going to Olive Garden for lunch, fuck you.”

Richie laughed after him and watched him disappear past the door frame. As soon as the door was shut, Richie sighed and looked at his coffee. He took the bag off the table, pulling out a couple creamers and every regular sugar there was in the bag (only four; for shame). As he emptied the packets into his coffee, he stared at the surface of the coffee as the sugar crystals popped the bubbles on the surface before disappearing into the liquid.

Bubbles…

What was that dream trying to tell him?

Richie didn’t buy any ‘science of dreams’ bullshit usually, but he could see the reasoning behind the idea that dreams were just your brain working through the information it’s taken in during the day. Where else would it come from? Deciphering what information the dream was working with was definitely not something Richie could do, and with a dream like that, he didn’t plan on trying.

But it stuck with him. It held on. It had to be important somehow. He sighed.

After stirring his coffee, he groaned as he stood with it, feeling thirty years older than he was as his body got used to motion again. He tugged his t-shirt down from where it had ridden up, and shook his leg out so his boxers hung straight. He padded over to where he’d placed Eddie’s book and picked it up, sipping his coffee as he inspected it. It was a hardcover book, worn at all the seams. The cover featured a man asleep among books. The back was covered in reviews. The pages were untrimmed and messy—a feature Richie rather enjoyed. He set his coffee down and brought the book to his bag, tucking it safely away amongst his unfolded clothing.

As he made his way back to his coffee, he paused by his new camera and the now completely developed photo. He’d forgotten it the night before because he’d fallen asleep as soon as they finished unpacking their purchases. He picked it up carefully by the corner and held it in view.

Eddie looked so relaxed in it. Even with the bedsheet gripped in his hands, he looked comfortable, with a smile on his face that dimpled his cheeks and crinkled his eyes.

_ Jesus Christ, he looked gorgeous. _

Richie closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.

The bathroom door opened and interrupted his pending panic. Eddie walked past him with a plastic bag of his toiletries. “I left another bag in there for your stuff. Figured you’d want to brush your teeth before we go.”

“Oh thanks.” Richie forced himself to act naturally again. “Hey by the way, did we bet money on this?”

Eddie paused by his suitcase and blinked back at him. “On what?”

Richie waved the polaroid around, grinning when he saw recognition in Eddie’s face. “Immaculate, my guy. I told you.”

“Give me that, lemme see.” Eddie beelined back toward him, and Richie pulled the picture out of his reach. It wasn’t hard; he had nearly half a foot on the guy.

“It’s  _ good, _ I swear!”

“I’ll be the judge of that, it’s  _ my _ face, now let me see!” Eddie jumped, his body colliding with Richie’s in an effort to bring the picture down.

Richie laughed and held it away. “Okay, okay! You can  _ see _ it, I’ll show you.”

“Let me  _ hold it.” _

“No, I don’t trust you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Richie reeled the picture in and held it in front of Eddie. Eddie winced. “Oh  _ god, _ are you kidding? I look like an idiot, give me that.” He flailed for it.

Richie yanked it away again. “The fuck do you mean you look like an idiot? Are we looking at the same picture?”

“I’ve got a stupid look on my face! Come on, that doesn’t need to see the light of day.”

“‘Stupid look’- It’s a  _ smile, _ Eds, you look great!”

“I do not!”

“Are you like, twelve? Fuck you, I’m using this as a bookmark!” Richie spun away from Eddie and dove for his bag, tucking the picture safely between the pages of the borrowed book before zipping it back up and sticking out his tongue. A pillow collided with his face a second later, and he laughed as it fell to the floor.

And then he heard the sound of the camera going off.

When he opened his eyes and straightened his glasses, he saw that Eddie was standing there with his camera and a smirk. “If you get to keep that one, I get this one.”

Richie snorted to cover his impending embarrassment. “I think you’re getting the shorter straw there, but yeah. Sure.”

“Oh, fuck you and your broad shoulders.” Eddie took the polaroid out of the camera, and pushed the camera into Richie’s hands. “Now hurry and get dressed, check out is at eleven.”

Eddie walked away (shaking the picture, the hypocrite) and Richie grinned after him. All the tension of the night before was gone, and Eddie had that bounce in his step again. Despite everything, Richie’s tactics to keep him distracted from his problems seemed to be working. Whether they were creating problems for himself was another matter, but he’d worry about that another time. For now, Eddie was smiling.

That mattered more.

~

As they drove out of the parking lot of the hotel, Richie shuffled down in his seat and propped his knees up against the dash. He yawned and watched out the window for the first mile of the trip. It was a quiet mile as Eddie picked another direction and drove, as was the plan. Eddie’s sun visor was down, and he’d slipped the polaroid he’d taken under a band that held a pair of sunglasses on the other side. Richie was in mid laugh, his eyes squeezed shut and his glasses knocked askew.

In his own opinion, he couldn’t remember a single picture anybody had ever taken that he’d seen himself so happy. It twisted something in his stomach that rose to his chest and took root.

Richie pulled his bag into his lap and tugged the book out, looking instead at the cover. The idea of reading the book unnerved him only slightly less than the feeling he got from looking at that photo. He ran his thumb along the slightly damaged dust jacket. The longer he looked at the book, the more it was obvious the weight of the air was changing. Eddie had noticed and was occasionally flicking his gaze over to the book and back to the road.

Richie figured he may as well test the waters.

“So,” Richie began, breaking the silence first. “...Working through some things, huh?”

Eddie swallowed so hard, Richie saw his Adam's apple bob out of the corner of his eye. “Y-... Yeah.”

Richie looked at the side of Eddie’s face. Then back at the book. After a long minute, Richie cleared his throat. “...Me too.”

Eddie fully turned his head when he spared Richie a look. Just as quickly, his gaze was back on the road. Another unspoken solidarity took over, and the air seemed to lighten. Eddie’s shoulders relaxed, and he sat back.

Richie watched his face a little longer. Then he took a breath. “I’m Richie Tozier,” he said with finality.

There it was. He said it. It was done. Whatever Eddie chose to do now, Richie would just have to handle.

Eddie glanced again, and he smiled so bright it could have blinded Richie. “Kaspbrak. Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Richie was completely floored. Richie was a pretty common name, but Tozier? Significantly less so, and the combination was seemingly nonexistent outside of his own person. Yet somehow, against all odds, Eddie continued to have no idea who Richie was. He seemed to have taken it as a proper introduction, another invitation of comradery, and he’d responded in turn. Eddie Kaspbrak was meeting Richie Tozier. Richie Tozier, full name, was still just a guy.

It was  _ dangerous. _ It was  _ great. _ He really should keep talking. He should tell him.  


But he couldn't force the words out.

Instead, Richie smirked at him. “Did you just ‘Bond, James Bond’ me?”

Eddie laughed and elbowed him in the arm. “Shut up!”

Richie snickered and opened the book, finally turning to the first page. If he was going to get through it, he may as well start now as a distraction from the looming dread of his inevitable discovery.

For now, despite his anxiety, his better judgement, and his efforts (as feeble as they were), even Richie Tozier remained Richie.

Just Richie.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT A FUCKIN' YEAR HUH.
> 
> So clearly this is... late. Way late. Later than I wanted it to be. Everything about this year hit, and the mental space has been chaos. It literally does not feel like it's been six months, that's how gone I've been. BUT I think I'm FINALLY BACK ONLINE.
> 
> As I am writing for the Reddie Bang, I can't promise that this will be updated again very soon, because I REALLY REALLY need to get the Bang fic done first.
> 
> But hey. Thanks for sticking around. Thanks for your patience. Thanks in general. :3

**Author's Note:**

> This was not fully beta'd, but I'll get to it. This was also supposed to be a long oneshot, but when Eddie hadn't even asked Richie to stick around until eight thousand words in, I decided I should maaaaaybe break it up LOL


End file.
